Arctic Heights
by The Long Fall of Prose
Summary: Learn to survive in an unfamiliar territory. [Kakashi x Haku]
1. Chapter 1

_Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews/flames welcome, as always._

* * *

The townsfolk are reminded a kind of beauty as chirping birds perch at the verdant trees; something which resembles attraction, a kind of beauty which Sunday morning provides, accompanied by crisp winds and friendly sunbeams. Merchants are busied faces, breathing of the everyday schedules of deliveries, almost machines at the perpetuity they endure as they prepare their stalls anew. Aside from surveillance ninjas trying to look alert (and fueled only with brews of caffeine), they're the meager populace capable of appreciating the morning with vibrancy. In the distance the monuments are gloomy from the absence of sunlight; although at the uppermost hill it glistens with a bright yellow, a sparkling field only blue jays and larks and eagles can reach. Proving to be a bewildering force, residents are more or less unaware by this very sight by which time has rewound itself. 

This is the Hidden Village of Leaf. Tangled at an equatorial area north of Mist's forests, Konoha spread itself around with an aura of optimism by which everything was almost dealt with within the fleeting sense of beauty, or something which resembles attraction. An odd magnetism spoken through their silent voices; for they find it difficult to be unfamiliar by all these gestures.

It was February of the seventh morning when the picturesque view of everydayness broke its habit. So much so that the slightest rustle of footwear against the concrete is enough to attract even the listless. Indeed it proved to be a bewildering force, now that the fertile soils are coated bloodied, now that medic-nins become signals of distress at the verge of their shouting voices.

Several windows started to unbolt at forceful taps while their whispering insinuations of slight nuisance echo to the long fall of silence throughout the village. The tall concrete shades are now peopled with an Anbu squad, partitioning the pavements with their bodies, seemingly unperturbed by the questioning folks. The medic-nins meticulously secure the alloyed frames of the cloth mattress, securing their entrance. The familiar was already thirty meters above as it swooshes its steel wings for the office, singing its rhythmic noise.

"I can't reckon such a face," the boar-masked Anbu spoke with certainty as he stares at this paleness of a body before him. The sunbeams outline the dried redness on his chest that is his blood; dirt has tainted his locks brown, and the colors of his garb are faded blueness. He's as dead as any sleeping man.

"Yes, found him at our camp, crippling and all. Must see Tsunade-sama for this one, can't do much,"

"What for? He's dying."

A clanging reverberation and skipping heartbeats as the orb above the vertical rose more energetically. "He's from Mist to boot," the Anbu continues, grazing the forehead protector with a touch.

"I don't recall any war against them,"

"Why didn't you send him to their border anyway?"

"The village's nearer. Can't have a cold heart like you too,"

"We'll wait for the reply. Then you can treat him."

"Shousen can't help much," the medic speaks with a whistle as the pale body glows with an emerald hue, these gesticulations of handseals, and soon an all-too-mysterious cry bellows from the firmament, despite the absence of the falcon.

"That means no from the council," the captain finally says; there was no way to prove his sympathy wrong but his voice wasn't soft-spoken.

"Why call the council? We didn't ask for–"

And so the earth shakes with an elastic quietness seconds after the subtle hint of rejecting an offer for help. The pebbles pulsate against the air and the silhouettes of the shadows begin to dance while the resonating earth against a nameless force become music, and windows start to amass a certain coldness that cleared the panes into hazy swirls. The view was a mist, and so are the fertile soils and the ninjas' garbs; swerving down, ashen in color and at the verge of iciness that the zephyr provides.

After cosmic seconds, the everydayness of the Hidden Village of Leaf will have to spread itself around with a wary mind when icicles spear the earth in whiteness and devouring the houses with sheer coldness. They're starting to understand the unfamiliarity, and they would have to deal with this happenstance with a fleeting sense of terror, or something which resembles a fatal attraction to this creature before them.

It proved to be a bewildering force when Haku opened his eyes.

* * *

**ARCTIC HEIGHTS**

**_In which the Quiet Konoha is Introduced to a Dying Youngster_**

* * *

The Hidden Village of Leaf was swept with a sense of disorientation as this pale youngster before them severed their routinely existence. But it wasn't because they abhorred him; in fact no sooner did they all learn of the waning powers of antipathy to the nine-tailed fox, and thereupon the seeming anomalies of nature, like Chouji, or Hinata for that matter. Several hours have come to pass and Tsunade, for the lack of an appropriate state of mind, succumbs to a fatal silence as her sight pierces through below. Thirty-nine meters from her were the icicles reaching the heights of a mansion, unyielding against the sunbeams and they stood jagged but with a pristine beauty, unscathed, and only visible tinges of red tainted it to a blooded diamond. 

The Hokage rests her head on her palm and her elbow grazes the wooden edges of the surgery room. It was a convenience for her to sign papers, she thought; downing a colorless liquid, burning her throat with a rouge face and she'd be reminiscing about days where surgery only meant an interceding handseal. Chuunin medics have started to chisel the ice and they create a sharp cadence through her earshot, toiling with an utmost sense of frustration while Shizune scrawls her observations, sidestepping every second to correct her posture for a better perception.

The clouds scatter in the firmament and the glaring orb reached Tsunade's cheek, slightly annoying her. "No good doing that," she whispers, and her right hand reaches for her waist.

The medics're more or less comforted by the indication that they can rest their weary hands. A sliver of ice fell to break the disturbing stillness and the sound echoes throughout the room; and Shizune, with chary mindset of sorts, has placed the notes on the table; and she smiles anxiously. Yes, Konoha didn't abhor this pale youngster, even to the least; they were just unnerved by him.

"No good at all," she says yet again, "Stand back," they obliged, and a kunai takes its course mid-air like a bullet and mustering a sufficed force to touch the ice, begetting a grayish scrape and the wedge falls on the floor.

"It's imbued with chakra," she concludes, and the nodding heads implied agreement. Haku lays arctic before them, a decent pastel creature embellished with brown and seemingly velvety tresses, and they smooth out against the terrifying beauty of the ice which enclosed him like a coffin. His eyes avoid the sight of Hokage, seeing only void; and they've discerned him only with a heartbeat. The ostensible hoarfrost emanate a fog that made Tsunade wear another layer of clothing, and the sunlight which illumined Haku's face were frail; not even a jewel has escaped.

"He preserved himself using his abilities I think,"

"He?" Shizune quizzically whistles and stared at the observation notes, gripping her pen by her fingers. "She... I meant he looks... feminine."

"Tsunade-sama, how're we to recover him then?" a medic-nin asks, feigning to sculpt the ice.

"If I break it to pieces then the fragments'll kill him,"

"Well he's missing-nin anyway," the other reasons, intently looking at the forehead protector, touching the ice. "Maybe we should report this to Mist?"

She sighs. "This is Hyouton, a kekkei genkai. I've always remembered how Mist was critical to these clans," she whispers, striding towards the youngster. "Mist'll kill him if we surrender this man to them,"

"Not our responsibility–"

But then the Hokage makes an exasperated hiss and her locks move in fast motion, narrowing her eyes at the medic. "Did you become a medic to let people die?"

The cold air swirls around them, and a long fall of silence devours them.

"Tsunade-sama..." was Shizune's sympathetic murmur and she harks back at the golden days of the Hokage, the golden days of gesticulations of a caring nature, the kind of kindness which made her a Sannin in the first place. "Maybe we ought to cancel out his own chakra?"

"It'll break, the fragments'll pierce him," the other medic says.

"We can't let him die," Tsunade whispers, staring onto Haku, and an anonymous sense of concern burdens her, a remote feeling sparked by Nawaki and Dan and even the fox's container, an antagonism to Orochimaru's distaste for weakness, for she found it hard to resist an utmost altruism that Sandaime taught her. And he was right; the Hidden Village of Leaf cares when it wants to, and her role was to foster this humanness. Her fingers caress the clear ice; she recalls of the corpses beautifying the ablaze countries and towns, of the cruelty that discord brings.

She knew that the Hidden Village of Mist was more or less outlined an everydayness of vindictiveness against its so-called anomalous citizens; and but she also sees that no sooner would the bordering country realize that Konoha is nurturing their insurgent. A genesis of discord, another war; it's a skirmish of empathy and pragmatism, and she was beginning to think that the answer lay hidden in the icy heights.

"Shizune, assign an Anbu to the daimyo," she finally says.

"...the daimyo?"

"Let the daimyo verify records of this lad," she walks for the observation notes, and her sight emphasized on the corrections. "Make it urgent before I summon the Mist's attention. I need research on this one,"

"Bu-but he's–"

The Sannin stares at the sleeping missing-nin. "He's done good to stay alive in that ice. But he's gonna be out of chakra soon enough and we have to recover him. Apply level seven shousen to take the lesions out of his right leg and lock this room afterwards. No one's allowed to come here except the three of you,"

"Yes Hokage-sama," they say, and she basks in the authority.

Now at the other end of Konoha, down by the northern territory, a certain white-haired scarecrow lays a protective arm over his aggravated blue eye as the sun glares at him through the windows, feigning slumber by his bed. His fatigued groan proved to be a bewildering force against the rest of the village who reveled in the energy of daylight, and so he shifts his body this time, trying to be listless despite his innately vigilant senses. The mattress makes a strained sound, and Hatake Kakashi was the only one who heard it.

He finds himself a silly man.

It seems that Obito will have to wait later as his mind meandered for yesterday's mission. Yet surely, while the rest of shinobis considered missions to be meaningful pursuits, he's embarking to an attraction to cynicism. Crossing the vague line of life and death became an all-too-familiar activity for him it became almost innate; not that he abhors this routinely existence, it's beginning to unnerve him. Oh how he loves his neurons misfiring signals on his brains, this silliness. At seeming slumber; his weakness.

He gets up and groans yet again, somehow looking for air to breathe. The portrait on the wooden breakfront was a sight which took long for him to recognize – Sakura was smiling, and so was he; and the nine-tailed fox makes himself comic whilst the sharingan youngster suddenly become a darkened silhouette. An inane fear suddenly surges within him, and he concludes that a shower would paint his composure anew; and so he swigs a mouthful of milk before shedding clothes for a soothing spell of bathing.

Who knew of a joy when one doesn't regret at all?

He dons his jounin vest after some minutes. And suddenly it occurs to him, this intimidation; while Konoha thrived in an everydayness of peace, he's been disoriented by the tedium his missions provide, so much so that he was beginning to think that he's lost himself to a pool of void. The stoic man turns the knob to see the faceless crowd, and he strolls for the office. Who knew of a phobia to any emotions? The clouds amass themselves and it rivets him, the way they've become free-spirited.

No sooner did he realize however the coldness of the earth several meters away from him, and in the distance his visible eye notices swirls of mist reaching for the cerulean skies. He picks up his book, nourishing an inquisitive mind; and he marvels at the picturesque view of draftiness and the icicles soaring in steadfast height. No; _he_ was dead, or so he thinks.

"What happened?" he asks next.

"Some crazy ninja Kakashi. Wounded and all, now the Godaime got him for sure,"

"Crazy eh?"

"My wife tells me earlier a wounded chap's rushed for Godaime's help, there's Anbu and all,"

"Anbu?" He stares up, and the office's windows are closed.

"No coffee today?" the man smiles and Kakashi gives him money, and sips the coffee then.

"It's not melting," he says, and was now more resolved as he closes Icha Icha and became a human projectile towards the office. Over the months the place reeked of murkiness, and the jounin now understands the Sannin for making an infinity of excuses to escape the prison that is the Kage's workplace. He knocks at the door, and realizes her absence; and so he leisurely ambled for the Missions Department to further a sense of boredom welling from within him.

He halts. A biting zephyr promenaded like an apparition and it stung him deadly, like a forgotten past, and he fosters a growing curiosity. The panes of the double doors of the room proved to be futile, and he's cloudy-eyed at the haziness of the fog, seeing only the tables and hearing a clanging echo from within. He turns the button clockwise; it wasn't locked at all.

"Careless chuunins," he whispers to himself, belittling the chuunins who're majority of the medics, and all the same thanking them. And so he enters; it's become an unfamiliar territory as silence deafens him. He narrows his blue eye at the sight of the pale creature before him, and the way the immaculate ice swathes Haku's body oppresses him. The frost shakes with an elastic stillness next, and air pulsates against his skin; a sense of anxiety slithers from his legs, reaching to seize his arms and his chest.

"Wha–"

A jewel of water dropped while medical equipments resonate against a nameless force; soon the ice thaws into surging waters, rough springtime waters like Haku. He opens his eyes, struggling for oxygen, and his body adjusts at the seeming perpetuity of slumber; Haku spread himself around with unfamiliarity, and would have to deal with this happenstance with a fleeting sense of trepidation, or something which resembles a fatal attraction to the man before him. He rests his right knee at the drenched floors, staring at the platinum-haired scarecrow; and with a fast reflex senbon needles ran their course in the air like a bullet.

* * *

_tbc._


	2. Chapter 2

_"Shiro" was Haku's Malaysian name (or so a website says) and I opted it for his surname. I'm keeping Kakashi's blue eye, I'm too lazy to edit the whole prose._

* * *

Misgivings crept down the mind of Hatake Kakashi at the slightest touch of an all-too-familiar metal against a gloved hand when a needle pierces through his palm, avoiding the second by centimeters and catching the third with his fingers. His body flexed at half-rotation while his unscathed hand reaches for a kunai, whirling like the winds as the waters splashes with a kick and Haku was already running with his skeletal weapon. Against the yellow brightness of the sun, his brown locks fly cosmically against it; his garbs follow the rhythm of the pallid coolness of the air and with another splash he dodges the soaring kunai with a crouch. 

Metal against the waters, friction against the wetness of their arsenal; the white-haired scarecrow deciphers the puzzles of a lifetime that are the senbon needles and the presence of Haku, for a calloused memory can only remember beautiful ones, only those he wishes to live with. What was it that slithers him to listlessness?

His kunai abrades against the senbon needle and moisture has decreased friction; their arms stood firm in the air, subduing each other's force with miniature mediums. Kakashi gathers enough strength to flout the laws of pain and focuses instead with a narrowed eye, while Haku remained unruffled and friendly like how the jounin remembered him. His right foot swooshes against the depths of shallow water in the air and defends Kakashi's knee kick, motioning a force from within him and wheels himself from the jounin's kunai. Haku's body makes a resonance countering the air as he throws his senbon needles, actually missing; his hand marks a handseal.

_Hyouton Sensatsu Suishou._

His weight rows against the waters and it makes a swooshing echo. Although Kakashi knew the warfare of this creature before him, he harks back at his opponent's abilities with warring sentiments of difficulty and admiration. The large beads of water metamorphose into shards of ice, protruding themselves with enough force, striking the jounin with intimidation. Wedges of frost have already amassed themselves towards Kakashi like human projectiles, and soon the room began to resound with violent roars that the guards nearby has started to run for the room.

Two floors below them, Tsunade's earshot began to collect rowdiness; she knew too well the music of skirmishes, and she runs, her heels making a thunderous resonance.

"What the hell was that?" she shouts to the chuunin, and soon Shizune appears with a puff of smoke. She clutches her left arm, readying her needle shots as the chuunin turns the knob.

"At my back, Tsunade-sama," Shizune whispers, bowing with pointed eyesight. At the slightest turn of the door, waters started to rush and make their away out of the tortured room, and the Sannin can sense red hues against the pristine stream. They sting her coldly, and she looks at the flowing waters; chakra was coerced, wasted as they are released – and now the lad should be dying soon enough.

The door opens. Hatake Kakashi stands too concrete for his own good as he takes the needle out of his palm, and his visible eye twitches; his breaths are still, although she can tell that his eyesight is growing unsteady. He emanated with a haze and the icicles surround him, while a drop of blood taints the translucent frost, underpinning her sense of anxiety.

"Ka...Kakashi?" Shizune voices out, and the chuunin backs away from view. Tsunade looks at the right. Haku stands frail as the room is emptied with the waters while sunbeams fill it; it strikes the lad's face and he reacts with the warmth. He was smiling, or so she thinks, and his brown eyes create a soothing force; when the clouds hid the sun with shades, the so-called missing-nin falls from the ground.

* * *

**ARCTIC HEIGHTS**

**_One-Handed Seals_**

* * *

"Let him in," Tsunade says, browsing through the papers. 

The door opens with a whisper and the daimyo invites himself to a seat; his hands were holding two brown folders and rested it among the other folders near Tsunade, making her raise an eyebrow. The mustached man snorts, signaling the escape of his own voice.

"That's all I can gather, Hokage-sama"

"Thanks,"

"What's that info for anyway?"

A decision, she muses, relates to past but nevertheless answers the demands of the present; something which also moulds the future. The birds start to chirp and she sighs, confused at her resolve. If she tells about the missing-nin, she would be forced to surrender him for politics' sake; not that every citizen of the Hidden Village of Leaf would learn to spurn the youngster but would it be a wiser choice to foster a shinobi of bloodline limit ability?

"Haku Shiro I reckon," the daimyo cuts her thoughts, "supposed to be a hunter-nin but went missing two and half years ago,"

"That makes him a missing-nin."

"Definitely." He reaches for the folder, opening it for the Hokage's convenience.

"A kekkei genkai, Hokage-sama. Records Department in Mist told me he's supposed to be dead."

She stares at the daimyo.

"An encounter with one of our shinobis they say, and they actually thanked me for that. Weird ne?" he continues.

"They wanted him dead anyway,"

"The other folder's his mission reports, not that it's important."

"Who... killed him?" she says falteringly.

"We can ask our own department for that. Whatcha gonna do to him?"

She shifts her weight on the chair and the strain makes a metallic clanging, resting her head with an arm. She gazes at the profile, reminiscing the village coated bloodied with an overflowing distrust and dread. "Whatcha gonna do if you're me?" she whispers, talking to herself.

"Summon the council of course."

"Yeah yeah, like hell they care,"

"Not that it would affect us, but what if Mist finds out about him?"

"Aren't they supposed to ask you that?"

"Never really answered their question, just asked them for supplementary records. We have to find out who killed him. Good luck, if you got any more favors just send someone over," he finally says, indicating his reluctance to involve himself in the predicament. He closes the door and a puff of smoke appears from the windows. The afternoon's warmth radiated with an orange color and the day was beginning to die. Of course, the Hidden Village of Leaf dealt with the coming of nighttime with an all-too-familiar silence, save for the nocturnal ones. Hatake Kakashi appears in the corner of Tsunade's right eye, and she can see his bandaged hand.

"No wonder he attacked you. You killed him didn't you?" she says, still browsing the folder.

A long fall of silence and her stamp against the paper deafens both of them.

"What're ya' gonna do Hokage-sama?" he whispers, and she judges that it was bordering from disinterest and a seeming obligation once a mission is assigned to him. His voice furthers her judgment to boot.

"What're you gonna do if you're me?"

Although she never really demanded a resolution from him, the Hokage senses bewilderment at the jounin's body language; she stands up, motioning the white-haired scarecrow to follow him. The sun was already receding to the void of dark clouds and the village was etched within the horizon of the day and the night's darkness. Several minutes come to pass, and the jounin joins Tsunade's strides as both of them walk through the hallways, leading themselves to the locked surgery room. In the distance, Kakashi can see the clear waters dampening the pavements of Konoha's central territory, and against the fading sunlight it gleams with pale colors. He construes the waters' genesis through the absence of Haku's chakra – the devastating beauty of icicles turned into a crying earth.

She opens the door.

"I've put restraining scrolls at the four corners of this room so he won't escape," she says next, picking the document up.

"D'ya plan to keep him?" he says as he feigns to lack interest.

"Council's gonna decline," she says, checking the equipment. Haku's body lays in a seemingly peaceful death; there were no sounds except the machine's constant indications of nourishment. "But I plan to keep him."

"Won't Mist–"

"You'll testify to his death and we're claiming him," she says, staring onto him and her voice embodied authority. "Imagine what he can do to our village," says her smile.

Yes, Kakashi thought; the importance of expediency. The Hidden Village of Leaf spread itself around with an aura of optimism by which everything was almost dealt with within the fleeting sense of something resembling attraction, thriving to familiarities of everydayness. But behind this picturesque aura is a power politics; a bloody affair to sustain the needs of familiarities of everydayness, a hidden violence but only a lurking view. "Of course," Kakashi comments.

"He's the only one I know who do one-handed seals," he continued.

This time the Sannin makes a quizzical face. "One-handed... seals?"

"Even the Sannin had to make two-handed ones ne?"

"Yes yes," she says, "I never knew their bloodline can do that,"

He walks towards the youngster. "The council should agree to this Hokage-sama, if advantages outweigh the drawbacks."

She stares at the sleeping Haku, and a sense of empathy surges from within her that the meanings of words would be curtailed expressions. The moon has started to wash the night away with gloom, and the vertical of clouds become a silhouette against the starless sky. Tsunade interprets an empathy to a questioning look, growing harrowing at the realization that both of them never knew why this pale youngster before them breathes in the first place. Who knew of a joy when one doesn't remember at all?

Hours passed and the council was summoned before her. Kakashi stands firm at the corner, his darkened figure visible only with slow reflexes of his body; Tsunade appears to be too serious for her own good, sitting in front of Sandaime's former teammates. At the other end of the room, Shizune and team jounins wait for their turn to speak; a chuunin holds a pen, keeping details for history's and precedence's sake.

"As y'all know," Tsunade breaks the ice, "as someone practicing an oath to save life, I remained to heal him,"

"I wonder, Tsunade, if Mist finds out about him,"

"Their records tell he's dead for years Homura,"

"And that stops them from knowing he's alive?" says the old woman, and Tsunade raises an eyebrow. "You think only the surface, Tsunade. What if they declare war on us?"

"I don't think they would anyway," the Hokage rejoins, "You're always thinking about freaking war,"

Kurenai raises her hand. "Hokage-sama's probably right, everything cannot be solved by a war."

"What're the chances of that Kurenai?" Homura speaks with an authoritative tone. "Mist is known to wage war at the slightest threat,"

"What's the threat?" Kurenai asks.

"You don't want him... because he's no Leaf," the Sannin concludes, astounded by her own claim.

Silence conquers them; they knew that recognition of existence was never tantamount to any intimidation, but only an odd magnetism that leads to a questioning of intentions. Tsunade is an advocate of favorable reception unless antagonism bellows to her and her village, but it's the least of her worries. She reminds herself of the townsfolk, their optimism, and their fleeting sense of beauty; it dawns upon her thus that the council disagrees with her not because of the peril that the Hidden Village of Mist could provide. It's not because they loathe Haku; they're unnerved by him.

"What're the odds?" Homura whispers.

"Unlike the rest of us in this room, he can do one-handed seals," she takes pride to her words. "He's extremely useful with his kekkei genkai,"

This time Kakashi can be seen as he speaks. "He has Anbu skills, and he's a kind soul."

"How do y'know?" asks the old lady.

"I was the one who killed him." The whispered words become buzzes at Kakashi's audition, seemingly impairing any chance to continue speaking. Tsunade motions for silence.

"Why is he here at all?" was the reply everybody thought to ask.

"I'm guessing it's a tensei technique which breathed life to him," answers Tsunade. "Or Kakashi didn't kill him enough."

"He's not gonna be a kind soul when he wakes up then," comments Asuma. "He might seek revenge or something,"

"I've already resolved myself to that. Seems absurd but I've assigned Kakashi in advance to rechristen the chap once he wakes up,"

And so they rest their case. It was February of the tenth morning when Haku opens his eyes; he adjusts at the unfamiliarity of everything, and his body fails to adapt at the crisp morning winds and warm sunlight. Beside him was the infamous copy-nin, trying to be casual; trying in his mind's eye to look for any symbolism of opposition, but the new Konoha citizen found himself disarmed at the odd magnetism which ignorance provides him. He raises his bandaged arm, only to fall from the air; Kakashi thought it was a signal of distress.

* * *

_tbc._


	3. Chapter 3

_References to Naruto: Movie One, and I borrowed a line from Evangelion._

* * *

The leaves have an acrid taste when he swooshes himself in mid-air, relocating himself with the forceful taps of the dewy soils abrading his skin; the rustles of wood and pebbles and flowers bellow right through his ears, and as the roots' splinters broke he felt it echoing from his legs as if they were tortured, nose to nose with his pursuer. He runs still, feeling no need for respite despite the weary body; an unknown enthusiasm slithers onto his feet, seizing him by the thighs and gripping his arms and he didn't feel the need to breathe. He takes a pause, looking at the far-eyed hills several meters away from him, separated with a wide gap and gave him a foreboding death from the chasm below. 

He exhales; he grips a vial of water from his waist, puncturing the glass and the jewels fall slowly towards the ground. The youngster makes a handseal and the miniature orbs of water surge like a lake; it swirls around him before coursing forward, and by then it has turned into an icicle bridge. He runs ahead, secured from the chasm of the valleys; the hunter releases poisoned needles, and the pale teen barely escapes them.

This time the rhythm of his breaths is erratic, almost not breathing at all; his energy reserves have been waning and the taste of any food was three days ago. Who knew of a joy when one escapes at all?

"Traitor!" the youngster hears.

With the absence of energy the icicles have already turned into waters. He walks slowly, assessing a distance, and he releases his own needles.

"What? This prickly metals'll kill me?" the lad hears once again.

Of course, the lad knew that in minute's time his body will become prey to this faceless enemy who never seemed to be exhausted; he can imagine himself writhing on the loamy humidity of the earth, uselessly escaping the menacing taunts and violent hands. He closes his eyes, remembering the convenience of death, the nuisance of rebirth; remembering how easy it was to serve the other and enslave himself – he remembers Zabuza, the flight of his senbon needles against the enemies, the praises, the guilt.

He sees right through it. An emptiness beckons him to rouse himself up, and suddenly a sunbeam glares at him, disoriented; one eye opens, and in the distance he can see the mountains, its peak covered with snow. An arctic height, he thought, and it was where he's supposed to be.

"Zabusa..." he mutters, and a cadenced sound can be heard from behind. He feels the echoes of wood against asphalt; whispers are abrupt, injuring his earshot, and he tastes brackish waters at the corner of his lips, gently it goes but distressing. He opens his eyes once again and he's smiling in spite of the tears.

"He blocked his memories," Ibiki finally says, motioning the blonde Sannin for Haku.

"He doesn't want to remember, Hokage-sama," the investigator continues, and the seal deactivates with silence. "It's too... agonizing."

"D'ya think we can dredge it up in the future?"

"Probably. That depends on him," he responds, gesturing for the chuunin medic-nin and Haku is escorted out of the room. Opposite the doors, Kakashi leans his back against the wall, and he accompanies the missing-nin outside.

"The faceless figure should be from the Sound, Akatsuki cannot involve itself here,"

"...Orochimaru?" the Sannin whispers, and an all-too-familiar anger swept down her mind. "Of course. He's the only one audacious enough to bring him back from the dead,"

"But why?" Ibiki asks.

"That's for us to know,"

"Setting up an investigation? That's impractical Hokage-sama..."

"I know," she says, now outside the room. "We'll let him recuperate, make him know what happened to him... which I find sort of absurd, but it's better than nothing,"

"You'll do flooding?"

"Flooding him with memories'll kill him," she says. "We'll take it slowly. Schedule another interrogation after two weeks."

* * *

**ARCTIC HEIGHTS**

_**In which Haku Dreams of the Arctic Heights**_

* * *

It was February of the twentieth morning when the Hidden Village of Leaf spread itself around with an attraction to a peculiarity that is Haku; along with a sense of everydayness was an odd magnetism to Haku's bewilderment at the kind of tranquility that protruded his ignorant mind. Townsfolk are more or less unaware of the dangers of Haku's abilities while the Leaf's shinobis, with kekkei genkai as an ultimate standard, are more or less fascinated by Haku's one-handed seals and Hyouton bloodline. More than this was an attraction to the ambivalence of Haku, going beyond the physicality; and Konoha becomes a warm territory. 

Although Haku still found it to be unfamiliar, he nevertheless enjoyed the smiles that the merchants're giving him, the way the kids' playful tones invite him to agreeable conversations. Often the kids would be astounded at the knowledge of his fake femininity, but of course, they didn't find it unusual. Leaf's citizens have their own peculiarities; and Haku, who thought that eccentricity assumed a negative connotation, found it all-too-familiar here.

Ibiki's investigation deprived the pale Haku of the morning's welcoming sun, and its afternoon glory started to show itself at the vertical. Kakashi walks beside him, silent, trying to read his book, feigning to look nonchalant. Sooner than he expected, the white-haired scarecrow found it a gradual nuisance to look after the missing-nin, nourish him anew with the routinely manners which Kakashi considered too familiar for their own good. He began to feel the strain; but Kakashi considered this a mission, a successful one at that.

Who knew of a joy when one is not tedium? He closes the book, and Haku swivels his head. "I think a lunch'll be a good idea," he says.

To this Haku smiles, "Of course, but I haven't been given any missions by..." he walks again, "Kakashi-san?"

"Money's not your problem,"

"Yes Kakashi-san... I just wanna express my gratitude."

"No need. A mission after all,"

"But you needn't have to. After all..."

Hatake Kakashi knew what he was going to say; perchance it was the reason for the hesitance and cautiousness. The sharingan man found the sense of distance inexpressible with ostensive words, but the more that he feigned to be nonchalant, the more he feigned to be reading his book, the more he feigned to wholeheartedly reply from Haku's smiles – Kakashi marked it out with the language of bodies. It wasn't that the jounin loathed him, even if Haku attempted to kill him; he was unnerved by him.

"I don't want to feel awkward Haku,"

"I know," he smiles.

Who knew of a joy when one does not smile at all?

"I'm going to find what happened to me. Until then, I'm gonna have to survive," he continues.

"I'll help you then," the jounin replies with a vagueness that Haku threw him an almost quizzical look.

"Yes, thank you, Kakashi-san..." he says, entering the restaurant. Silence has devoured them for celestial moments and neither of them had the clear words to say; unintelligible gesticulations sprung themselves for both's sight. Kakashi sighs, Haku smiles; the silent gestures spoke volumes of questions answerable with uncertainty.

For the next long minutes, the conversation would be dry. As Haku takes a bite of his rice ball, Kakashi would speak of Naruto's journey and Sakura's training, and as Kakashi stares at his food the pale Haku would be mouthing questions about the Leaf and the everydayness thereof. Kakashi will whisper about Sasuke's intent to kill his brother, Haku will have to spread himself around with an ignorance that only Kakashi can erase, inquisitive words that only Kakashi answered. The feminine-looking Haku would chuckle at Kakashi's subtle sarcasm, and time would have to pass to exclude them from missions.

"Tomorrow we'll do a C-rank, ya don't mind?"

"That's a start," Haku replies, raising his arm to take the restaurant's curtain off his shoulder. "You don't... have a cell Kakashi-san?"

"No," was the immediate reply.

"I see..." the other mutters, "I'll have to be your new trainee then?"

"Yeah, most probably,"

They take their strides for the Missions Department. When nighttime darkened Konoha's fields, Kakashi accompanied Haku to his temporary abode, somewhere within the whiteness of the hospital, a storage room that now became a fake apartment; the white sheets and mattress and pillows, the antiseptic smell and a disturbing cleanliness were Haku's friends for the night. The jounin, on the other hand, would have to tell Obito the day's life, understanding anew what Obito meant when he saved the scarecrow.

Few hours pass, and both of them awoke at the humid rustles of the leaves against the cold wind. The fracture between the yellow sun and the black night is visible through their eyes and they began their long hurdles in the air, approaching the border gates; Tsunade surprises them with her presence, and the steam from her coffee can be seen from afar. Three Anbu soldiers surround her, and Haku smiles – the only thing he does at the slightest anxiety.

"Good luck on ye'r first mission," she says next.

"Thank you Hokage-sama, I assure you the mission's success."

Kakashi stretches his arms.

"I don't usually do this welcome thing, but since you're new here I have to," Tsunade says, sipping her coffee. "I hope you'll be your best as Konoha citizen,"

"Yes, Hokage-sama... I thank you for the kindness,"

"I'm giving you a C-rank for now. You can't strain yourself so much for some time."

No sooner did the two shinobis realize that mission ranks can ever get deceiving. Their bingo book designates the Mist missing-nin as a mediocre assassin incapable of performing jounin-level ninjutsus, but Haku found himself useless at the enemy's offenses, that is, water; for the pale youngster also had water as his arsenal, and Kakashi would have to waste his energy deflecting the oceanic waters. The terrains are wet; even their clothes cannot escape the dampness, and the burning sun felt comfortable against their skin. Swirls of haze surrounded their arena of death and the forest feels too cold for a woodland. Beneath Haku's footwear is a thin sheet of ice, extending, a whiteness way beyond his release of energy.

Haku knew that it was his mission, not Kakashi's.

He throws his senbon needles in a rapid succession, and the white-haired scarecrow leaves both of them to attend to more pressing matters; the politics of the villages, the power struggles. Haku knew that Kakashi's place is supposed to be in Mist's Records Department; the feminine-looking lad knew that the scarecrow had to testify to his death. It seemed ironic for him, for he knew death almost three years ago; and yet here he was, alive, dodging the fuumashuriken as it strikes the woods deadly, leaving them cut.

Beads of water amass themselves, afloat in his palm. The enemy surrounds himself with a miasma and deprived Haku of eyesight; throwing the sphere of water at the earth he performs a one-handed seal with his other hand. The water element fuses with wind, and another sheet of ice began to lengthen, painting the forest's soils ashen. Another fuumashuriken from nowhere and he hurls himself in the air.

He knew that the mission was to prove himself.

His weight crashes with the ice and it makes a splintering sound, his eyes narrowed at the thought of the expectations, and that a failed mission would prove his existence meaningless. He suddenly remembers Zabuza, and the test of life he's gone through; it echoed a similarity, but he felt a difference that only the Hidden Village of Leaf can provide. There was something resembling an attraction, the odd magnetism of everydayness.

Three large shurikens ran their course in random directions like a bullet. He makes a handseal, controlling his chakra. _Hyouton __Hyourou no Jutsu. _

His palm grazes the ice; a hiss from the grounds and pillars of translucent ice launches upward, swathing Haku. Behind him one fuumashuriken collides against the immaculate ice and it incises only centimeters, jamming and divesting it motility. The second fuumashuriken disentangles in the air and become four slanted blades soaring at the corner of his left eye; the wedges thunders against the ice, while the third fuumashuriken hurls vehemently to his front. He inhales a misty air, releasing his energy; another column of ice shoots from the ground, catching the weapon. It gleamed against the sunlight and even the enemy can see it with a shining pallidness.

Yes, Haku thought, the desire for a normal life did not wane, it is ablaze at the slightest idea of living anew; nothing can so pierce the soul with the uttermost sigh of rebirth.

A multitude of pilasters of ice suddenly surge for the enemy, and Haku thinks it owes from the excitement that he will be a person of everydayness; the icicles runs vigorously for the enemy and he leaps from the ground, shooting streams of water with his own handseals and it breaks the ice. An icicle catches his foot, and the enemy pretends to be caught as the water bunshin sends a downpour. A stream of fierce water pierces through his shield, ducking in time; Haku's left eye sees through the hole.

He knew this mission was a step for a life he longed since Zabuza's demise.

He makes another handseal, controlling his wind element; he stands up, and the icicles shatter – ice against metal, and their sound against the earth splinters through his ears. He blows a puff of air, and it turns into violent whirls. _Fuuton Daitopa._

A blast of wind rushes itself for the enemy and he fights the force, trying to unite with the earth. Haku was already running for him however, and with the gust supplementing such a force, the senbon needles had more than enough strength to fly and the enemy did not even notice them striking his neck, stinging him to paralysis. He walks towards the motionless enemy; Haku knew of human anatomy more than the enemy did.

"I'm sorry... but your head means my new life," he apologizes, and with the reflex of his right hand, an icy wedge launches itself upward, knifing the assassin's heart. It paints the cold and pastel forest with thick redness.

By the time Kakashi finished his testament to Mist, and by the time they were back at Konoha spending the night with Haku's first payment in a restaurant, Haku can only smile ever so genuinely. He eats with an excitement only Kakashi can decipher – the desire to live again; and so he, too, celebrates with Haku. As the pale youngster sleeps, the hospital becomes odorless and colorful; Haku can see himself standing at the summit of the mountains he dreamed about. It's snowing and the winds are too cold for his cheeks while the sunlight grabs him, and he becomes ecstatic at the sight of the green fields below him. The arctic height, he thought, and it was where he's supposed to be.

* * *

_tbc._


	4. Chapter 4

Haku basks in the arctic heights, reveling in the coldness and solitude, and his legs are more than willing to tread the pathless summit of the mountain. Only his bluish clothes were nuanced enough for him to be distinguished against the blankness that is the snowy plains; winds eddy around him, and the verdant fields are out of sight. Still, his smile is warm; his right foot takes a leisurely step forward, and he can hear his weight against the snow. The arctic heights have deprived him of sunlight but he's carrying on, knowing all-too-well that after the dream, he shan't despise himself anymore.

He closes his eyes in time to feel the winds caressing his cheeks and they felt warm, like a hand tracing the outlines of his brown locks to tuck them in his ears. A gesture of comfort in the backdrop of a snowy storm, and he almost felt it wasn't a dream at all; after all, the arctic heights for him are the reasons and motivations when his mind can no longer cope to the uncertainties of the world. Who knew of a joy when one doesn't know at all?

"Haku..." he hears a whisper.

The pale Haku set his eyes anew at Zabuza. Two kunais are lodged on his right elbow and dry blood can be seen from his shirt; his bandaged mouth move in a long-winded motion, bloodied, and the Mist swordsman's eyes are too sincere that Haku almost felt betrayed by this man before him. Even in afterlife, he haunted Haku at the slightest presence of anxiety; his sword is flung at his back, and when Zabuza makes a step it makes a metallic echo.

"Haku..." Zabuza whispers again, and his eyes're more than willing to set its sight on the pale youngster. "Have you forgotten me Haku?"

The other does not respond and succumbs to the convenience of silence.

"Have you forgotten Haku?"

Zabuza shuts his eyes while Haku throws him a saddened look, empathizing at his lack of opportunity to live an everydayness that the pale youngster loved more than killing an enemy. It wasn't jealousy, Haku muses; yet the memory of him meant more than just a figment of imagination for the both of them. "I do not, Zabuza-san," he finally says.

"And what shall you do?"

"Complete the mission."

His mentor makes another step towards him while Haku's left foot strides backward; Zabuza's right arm suddenly bleeds with a profusion that stings Haku's eyes with a sense of anxiety, and the swordsman's bandages start to loosen as the winds turn crueler only for him. The cloth binding flies with the cold air. Zabuza was dead, and yet his jagged teeth mouthed whispers deafening him like he's alive. Zabuza walks forward, towards the anxious language of Haku's body, the latter hesitant and obliging at the same time.

"You don't have any more missions to complete Haku..."

"Zabuza-san..."

"You don't have any more missions to complete,"

"I... I'm living again, Zabuza-san,"

"No more missions Haku," the other says, coughing blood, "You have to rest now,"

Haku wakes up at the puff of smoke outside the disinfectant-smelling room, and he can sense Hatake Kakashi's presence, more than appreciative of his measly aura; and the pale lad rubs his temple with a trembling hand. More than the subconscious gratitude was the realization that the white-haired scarecrow had no obligation to appear by the doorway, for surely Haku is not foolish enough to be too ignorant at the everydayness of Konoha. It was February of the twenty-second morning when Haku spread himself around the croaking mattress, along with a sense of pessimism that nightmares bring – death, blood and uncertainties.

* * *

**ARCTIC HEIGHTS**

**_In which He Learns to Survive in an Unfamiliar Territory_**

* * *

On the verge of frustration at the weight that Yamanaka Ino is carrying, she managed to lay the wooden box near the lush pots of their clan's flower shop; and looking at the flowers showing off the vibrancy of their colors, she sighs in relief. Searching for a handkerchief she wiped the welling sweat on her cheeks, more than knowing how it shan't be good indication of beauty, or something resembling an attraction. The sun has only risen and yet it felt like an afternoon for her. 

"Sheesh dad... making a lady carry this," and several petals jazz against the wind, fluttering away. "Let's do this or the flowers'll die."

At the other side of the pathway, there went Haku and Kakashi strolling like tourists as the former's hand carries a scroll which assigned them an A-rank tomorrow; the friendliness of the sun today is a precious gem and Tsunade suggested him to explore the warmth and optimism that is the Hidden Village of Leaf. The central territory of Konoha is peopled with civilians and patrolling shinobis, making their ways and minding their own businesses, and yet their gestures meant more than routinely existence for Haku.

Who knew of a joy in everydayness?

"Kakashi-sensei!" the blonde shouts, waving her arm.

"Yamanaka Ino," he replies. "No mission today?"

"Business as usual... uhm," she stutters, staring next at the smiling peculiarity called Haku.

"Shiro Haku," he bows down for introductions, and Kakashi's visible eye makes a lighthearted gaze at Ino. "He's my... learner," the jounin speaks.

"I see..." the other says, her tone positively somewhere. "Nice meeting you."

"I'm trying to acquaint myself with the village, I hope you don't mind,"

"Not at all Haku-san,"

He smiles. "Haku is fine, Ino-kun, it reminds me how old I am,"

Kakashi makes a grimacing smile. "He doesn't want to get older."

"Others here want to," Ino chuckles, "Team Rookie wants to get to jounin so early,"

"Team Rookie?" Haku questions, gazing at the flowers.

"Kakashi-sensei, you're a bad tourist-guide,"

"Yeah yeah," he scratches the back of his head, "Where're the others?"

"Training and whatnot. Missions or whatever. They don't want to pay attention to themselves, I mean," she takes a look at herself by the panes of the shop's window, "Some rest, y'know?"

"Hey Haku..." she continues, "there's a good spa here, your hair can do some rest, too, then maybe I'll accompany you next time, y'know, girly stuff," she giggled.

"I'll note that," the other said, now trailing the leaving white-haired scarecrow. "Oh, Ino-kun..." he says, stopping in time to swivel his head. "I'm... I'm not a girl," he follows Kakashi next, leaving the dumbfounded Yamanaka Ino.

At the other pavement outside the Yamanaka flower shop, the sharingan man and the pale youngster walked in a long fall of silence, and yet it spoke volumes of subtle laughs and comfort. They meander around Konoha again, and Haku regresses himself as a blank slate waiting for a roguish but experienced man to write knowledge anew, and it gives him a sense of novelty. The faceless crowd turns into colorful masks, inviting him; attaching himself at the optimism that Konoha spread around with.

"This," Kakashi finally says, "is the academy. Y'may wanna teach someday yeah?"

"Yes I would," he says.

"A genius like you should be teaching others to be genius too," the scarecrow whispers, "I taught Anbu some years ago,"

"Like..." he trailed his words off, remembering Zabuza. "Was it nice to teach?"

"Sometimes," he opens up, "Sometimes y'want to take their heads off,"

"Zabuza-san was so strict," he finally mutters between faltering breaths, "But I guess it's a good thing, I've been a good ninja,"

Kakashi stares at his right hand, opening and closing it and verifying its existence; he harks back at these fingers against Haku's heart almost three years ago. "Yes y'were."

Haku smiles, the only thing he does at the slightest anxiety.

"Most chuunins teach. Jounins're on better missions. Technically you don't have a rank, but you're almost jounin-level," he says. "Y'cant enter the exams, but you'll accompany me with missions,"

"Understood, Kaka– how should I address ya?"

"Whatever y'want," he replies, and they walk. Kakashi gave the pale youngster a seeming smile against his clothed lips, quivering something unknown to him. He soon realizes they were inside the academy, and the wooden floors resounding against their feet indicated its old age. Konoha was much bigger than he thought, for even the academy felt like a vast ocean for Haku – unexplored, waiting to be noticed. Kakashi dragged themselves into Iruka's room, handing him a scroll for the scarred chuunin to read.

"Hokage's order," Iruka whispers, committing into memory the words painted on the scroll. He smiles next, "You're Shiro Haku yes?"

"Yes sir,"

"Umino Iruka, call me by my first name, after all you've been promoted already."

He tucks his brown locks in his ear. "Promoted?"

"You're a special jounin now," the chuunin replied, showing the pale youngster the scroll. "I wish y'the best,"

"Thank you Iruka-san..."

"Well," Kakashi interrupts, "We got something. Please pass it to the Records."

And off they went to more unexplored oceans that are the territories of Konoha. The almost-tattered training grounds of Konoha's northwestern region is owed from Hyuuga Hinata and Inuzuka Kiba's training, and the sharingan man almost took a sidestep when Akamaru's bark echoed rowdiness towards him, seemingly warning Haku like someone unknown. The sun was beginning to be inhospitable with its hot sunlight but Team Eight didn't even notice; sweat mingled with the gyrations of the bodies, the barks of the familiar, and Shino's kikai bugs buzzing from somewhere become judges to Hinata and Kiba's pseudo-skirmish.

Kakashi leans at a log, and Haku smiles, firm against the grassy plains and staring onto the fight. He can observe the destruction bugs, with high-pitched buzzes, taking intent looks at him; and it figures, Haku muses, since he's only started to learn surviving at an unfamiliar territory that is the Hidden Village of Leaf. Kiba merges with his familiar for a cyclonic offense, and Hinata twirls her body in fastness and chakra soon envelopes her. To protect yourself from dangers; what joy such a ninjutsu would bring?

"Team Eight," Kakashi sighs, "And this's where most trainings're. They're part of Team Rookie,"

"There's more?"

"Team Rookie's the nickname for the genins some time ago,"

"That includes Naruto-kun of course?"

He leans his back again, resting his weight. "Yes. Genins who're advanced unlike previous ones, all fighting each other to be chuunin,"

"Who won?"

A kikai bug flies closer at him, and Haku stares at it; he smiles, and the bug swerves away. Why was his new instructor making him take such a picturesque view of the fight? After all, they could've trained themselves and measure the drawbacks of his Hyouton bloodline, or they could spend the time exploring more of Konoha's oceans. It would soon dawn upon him however, that it was a test of life which Haku should accomplish way beyond what Team Eight is doing right now; he knew it is negatively derivative, but it nevertheless gives his life a purpose.

"Nara Shikamaru, shadow genius," he hears Kakashi reply.

"He must be the strongest,"

Kakashi stands firm on the ground next. "He's not. He's the brightest. Team Eight is an underdog," he stares at Haku, "but they're much organized... unlike mine,"

"You needn't say that, Kakashi-san," he empathizes, remembering how Kakashi's team softly said goodbye. "I'll be what y'want me to be, Kakashi-san..." he assures him next, and he thought he spoke those words to someone all-too-familiar for him before.

"I'll be strong,"

To this Kakashi can only muster a sigh. "An unnecessary risk for you, Haku," for Hatake Kakashi was well aware of Haku's dangerous altruism. He didn't want him to die – again.

"I promise it won't be."

After the strenuous fakeness of a fight, Team Eight introduces themselves as a reconnaissance team and Haku became Kiba's rival as soon as the Inuzuka found out his bloodline; Hinata seemed silent, but the new special jounin found her assertiveness within her, as she's assessing him with a meticulous and mysterious set of eyes. Aburame Shino stood with more than enough silence to make Haku remember the dangers of his abilities, and his seemingly sightless eyes evoke no emotion as Haku smiles at them. The desire to be stronger is ablaze by Hatake Kakashi's presence, albeit unlike Zabuza who never seemed to emanate a sense of warmth. The introductions end and he meets Haruno Sakura, yet again; he smiled as she became flabbergasted - she talked slowly and Haku spoke with courteousness.

It was two hours after lunch and they were now at the central area; in Ichiraku Ramen House, and Ayame can be seen with a surprised face at the knowledge of Haku's fake femininity, remembering how she complimented the pale youngster's beauty coupled with the jounin's percolating masculinity. The old man had to succumb into an embarrassed silence; Kakashi can only make stuttered laughs while Haku's pale cheeks turn too pink to be unnoticed. "I'm really sorry," Ayame bows down again, self-conscious as ever.

"It's okay," Kakashi replies. He stares next at the nodding Haku.

Few more minutes pass. Down by the seats, Kakashi can only stare frustratingly at his food; but more than this triviality was a sense of indecipherable obligation to erase the trace of fatalism within Haku. Perhaps from the fact he was the one who killed him; he cannot tell. The pale Haku emanated a beauty which haunts people into hidden bliss, and yet within him is a welling sadness that looms death with the slightest touch. Uchiha Sasuke bears a resemblance, but the beauty and warmth that Haku's eyes're giving are more than enough to set a difference. Haku felt like an unfamiliar territory, and the white-haired scarecrow has yet to learn surviving from Haku's presence.

Kakashi gazes at the new special jounin sipping his tea, and the other turns his head to stare at the all-too-dutiful Hatake Kakashi, smiling. And deciding on a resolve, the white-haired scarecrow lightly scratches his throat; he removes his mask, smiling, and drinks his own tea.

* * *

_tbc._


End file.
